KKM Seek 2 'First Pawn'
by tigersilver
Summary: Wolfram has studied strategy, but he has much to learn.


KKM Seek 2 'First Pawn'

There was curl of excitement flickering in his stomach – or maybe that was his chest, which suddenly felt that much more constricted. He was having trouble breathing, but that was likely the water dragons wrapped around him. He'd been feeling suffocated since the second the young Maou had slapped him, after all.

Or perhaps from the moment he'd first laid eyes on this deceptively powerful man – graceless and inept, with dark eyes huge and awed as they stared up at him. He'd towered over the idiot at that moment, his natural advantage only heightened by his position on the Castle stairway, and felt something weird and nameless bloom under his blue coat.

That uneasy whispering in his shuttered heart continued throughout dinner, one he grudgingly attended, sharpening his commentary and adding an unnecessary edge to any remarks he traded with Shibuya Yuuri. His objections to the new Maou's parentage and ancestry were fully justified, of course, but perhaps he shouldn't have phrased them quite that way – his honest remorse was far too late after the Maou delivered his disturbing challenge. Wolfram, trapped in anger, had no choice but to take it up.

Now Wolfram shouted, demanding to be released, though he hadn't much hope of being heard above the roar of the Maou's mighty powers. Still, he was, almost as an afterthought, and landed heavily with a hearty, stinging thump on his already sore backside.

His eyes were open, though, wide and staring and fixed upon his newly proclaimed King with great intensity. He hadn't expected that, though perhaps he should've from the way Weller-kyo reacted, and now his breath was stolen away for another reason.

The Maou was incredible – there was no other way to describe it. He had thought Yuuri foolish and weak upon first meeting, so perhaps he's missed the gleam in those dark eyes that foretold this embarrassing outcome. He'd only seen the softness, the mild mien, and had felt afraid – if this was to be their King, what would happen to them? How could they hope to survive with such a foolish, wimpy leader?

But he wasn't embarrassed by his personal defeat; no, not at all. It gave credence to the tiny flame of hope that burned within him; it shed a rosy cast on what had seemed a bleak future of warfare and loss. And if he found himself paying more than casual attention to the velvet depths of those midnight dark eyes, the soft fall of that silky black hair, then all the better. It meant this engagement had a chance of being a happy one - and Wolfram von Bielefeld suddenly realized he craved that with all the intensity of his fiery young heart.

He liked Yuuri's tanned skin. It contrasted nicely with his own paleness. Those black eyes – so unusual! – were really very attractive; he found himself drowning dreamily more than once. Yuuri's hands were square and broad, with long fingers, belying his usual air of haplessness. Wolfram, who'd never before been particular interested in allowing others into his 'space', found he rather wished Yuuri would touch him more often. Those casual brushes of shoulder, knee or palm weren't nearly as satisfying as they could be. He wouldn't mind more.

He eased into watching over this brash and idiotic young Maou with alacrity, taking his rightful place at Yuuri's side when the engagement was not denied, forthrightly pressing his advantage by taking Yuuri's precious time as well. He spent his new allowance secretly watching: the rounded curve of Yuuri's cheek, the angle of his jaw, the firmness of his lips even when the wimp was grinning like a fool, as ever. He discovered that Yuuri's smell was intoxicating, even when no whiff of Mama's perfume muddied his olfactory reception - musky and light, with deep notes of cinnamon and brown sugar, the aroma of 'man' overlaid by 'boy'. He realized the new Maou was deceptively graceful in his own peculiar klutzy way: Yuuri's constant stumbling over his own feet echoed the motions of a courtly dance, the impassioned wave of his hands in the air when he was gesturing were oddly beckoning, a passionate haven that Wolfram wanted to be the first to step into.

And the more he noticed, the hungrier Wolf got. There was no other way to describe this feeling – a desire, new to him and unfurling continually in his chest; a craving, profound and inextricable, that had no surcease. So Wolf levied himself farther into Yuuri's attention, invading the new Maou's privacy as he never would've thought to do with anyone else. The Royal bedchamber was the first place; Yuuri's study the second, but Wolfram found he could readily invent reasons to be near the new-found object of his affections – sword training, riding lessons, Gunter's lectures, Yuuri's sudden annoying field-trips to wherever the action was centered.

Wolfram had never dealt with a passion of this degree; it was undeniably new to him to search for valid reasons to be with someone. Usually he was the one 'avoiding' instead of the one 'chasing', so perhaps he wasn't as skilled at pursuit as he could be. But he was a willing enough audence to the ever more strident needs that clamored within him, seeking comfort and excitement, companionship and friendship and….love?

He hadn't thought of love before, except as some fool's excuse for doing foolish things. Look at Mother and her endless affairs; look at Gurrier and Gwendal, always trotting stupidly after their crushes, hoping for a smile or a kind word from their respective favorites. Where was the reward in that? Love was a dumb thing; it was empty, with none of the substance and satisfaction hard work and dedication to one's self-improvement offered. Wolf had no use for it and indeed, he outright rejected it, for it was not fitting for a soldier to be so easily swayed. Love was a danger to the State.

Yuuri, however, seemed to be able to love wholeheartedly without losing anything because of it. His obvious regard for Wolf's half-brother was certainly returned; his delicate wooing of his subjects brought tangible results. They smiled for him and delighted in the attentions he gave them; courtesies from the one in power were not common in this world. They gave him their honor and their loyalty and their credence: the Maou's rightful due, but Yuuri earned it. Wolfram found his vision was green with envy – or was that simply jealousy? – for Yuuri turned his light on everyone, regardless.

So, a young Lord von Bielefeld learned his lesson and began the struggle for intimacy, though he knew not how to ask for it, and sought always to turn those dark eyes in his direction. Truthfully, all this involved additional loss of his dignity but that was deemed acceptable. He'd didn't begrudge it one iota if it led to Yuuri understanding Wolfram's special position in the young Maou's life. And, really, how else was the stupid fool to learn just how much he'd been given the moment Wolfram had acknowledged defeat?

It was just a pity that he had so little frame of reference: how could he judge the burgeoning depths of these feelings with nothing to compare it to and no one to ask? Wolf had always shunned confidantes – he didn't need them and it only caused trouble to have people around able to take advantage of his perfectly normal Mazoku fallibilities – and besides, what would he say to them?

"I feel odd when I'm with him; I can't seem to inhale properly when he smells so good – I love the feel of him against my back when we're riding together or when he sleeps next to me; I want to touch him more often – and be allowed to. I think I need him to keep on living but…he doesn't seem to feel the same way I do. It's frightening. Terrifying, really. How can I tell if he likes me, if he wants me, even a little? How do I know?"

Not knowing, and with no way of learning all the wordless rules so late in the game, Wolfram took every smile sent his way as encouragement, every casual touch as acceptance. The wimp had to feel at least a smidgen of what he did – there was no other way to interpret his deference to Wolfram's wishes, his lovely sunny smiles and his indefinite good cheer. Wolfram kept his eyes firmly on the goal, seeing only what he wanted to, hearing only what he needed to hear and firmly denying the need for honesty about his fiancé's 'real' feelings.

It was because he felt oddly inadequate when faced with them, of course. He wasn't stupid. He knew that Yuuri _demanded_ honesty, that he honored kindness and tolerance. Wolfram looked to his own soul eventually and saw it singed around the edges, and folded tightly on itself. He'd had no use for trust before Yuuri – everybody always lied to him anyway – so how could he hope to offer it up blithely, knowing the cost? And, given his current run of luck, the Maou in Yuuri had likely already sensed Wolf's inner indecision, his lack, and silently disapproved. Wolfram would have to struggle to make up for it, prying his locked-tight heart open and allowing all those softer emotions egress. He was hesitant at this, untutored, and regretted them deeply, his embarrassing little failures, and still bravely hoped against hope Yuuri would give him a little more time to get used to loving someone the way he was supposed to.

Care, right? And courtesy. Understanding and faith, neither of which came easily to a Wolfram stunted by too many years of forced seclusion. Pride in accomplishment, because the Maou really was something special. Acceptance, because sometimes Yuuri failed – or thought he did – and even a blind man could see he could've done better. Wolfram owed it to Yuuri to point out all those areas where he needed improvement.

But Wolfram understood failure – he'd made so many mistakes learning things. Failure was just another way to say 'challenge'. It forced him to do better next time. Now he applied this principal to the messy swarm of emotions that bubbled beneath his pretty surface, striving to extend his undying faith in Yuuri's guaranteed 'win' by total cuteness to encompass a concrete assurance the Maou would continue to do the 'right thing' right here in Shin Makoku.

Even by him, Yuuri's 'accidental' fiancé. Even if this whole entanglement had happened completely by chance, surely it was still as 'real' as the sunlight that turned Yuuri's messy mane an iridescent raven's wing blue. Surely the Maou could be counted on to fulfill his promise to Wolfram, even if he had some niggling little issues tripping him up. These protests of 'boy!' and 'wrong!' and 'but I don't want to!' were mere stumbling blocks Yuuri would step over soon, just as the dusk followed day.

Wolf excused the Maou's perplexing delays almost automatically. He had learned to. This was only natural, Yuuri's shyness. The Maou was not comfortable with Mazoku ways and had yet to be fully educated. Wolfram would gladly take up that gauntlet and show Yuuri what to do and how to do it – he'd spent some serious time studying up on the subject of 'Love' by now - as soon as Yuuri wasn't so busy with lessons and battles and quests and ruling. After all , it was those that were standing in the way of the natural progression of their relationship; those and Yuuri's odd leftover Earth customs. There could be no other reason for Yuuri to hold back, could there?

Weller-kyo. Earth itself, and specifically Japan, the home of Yuuri's childhood. Even baseball. The Sage Murata-san, who claimed Yuuri's friendship – his affection and his loyalty, as well. And to a lesser degree, Wolfram's own Mama and Lord Gunter and even Dorcas and Anissina. Shin Makoku, in all its grandeur. Jennifer-san and that irritating over protective older brother, and of course Lord Shoma, who'd all admittedly done such an admirable job of raising this sweet and gentle Maou to near-adulthood. High school and video games and maybe even those pesky human girls. 'Would-be' lovers, tucked away in Yuuri's hidden past.

All these things impinged painfully upon Wolf's fragile happiness, so he ignored them as best he could and railed against them whenever he couldn't. And Yuuri smiled and touched him occasionally, just enough to keep that flame alive beneath the confines of his jacket, and said things that could be interpreted one way or the opposite, so that Wolfram spent half his time denying and the other furiously determined.

Still, Wolf knew he had no choice but to come out with it, no matter how damaging it would be to his pride, being the first one to confess. But there was no help for it – Yuuri was too good at being wishy-washy and if someone had to do the 'chasing', then it would be him – and him only, no matter who tried to muscle onto the field. This particular game only ever allowed for two players, after all. No more.


End file.
